


Almost.

by Ya_Boi_Iggy



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Negan Being Negan (Walking Dead), Snow, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-25 23:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13845486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ya_Boi_Iggy/pseuds/Ya_Boi_Iggy
Summary: "'S nice. The snow. Can almost pretend the world ain't a fuckin' shit show no more with the way it covers everythin.'"





	Almost.

When Negan woke you up in the middle of the night, your first instinct was to panic. After all, in a world where every day entailed a new threat to life, rest was something well earned and not to be interrupted unless absolutely necessary. Panic had little time to manifest, however.  
  
His shadowed face, barely illuminated by the moon which filtered through the curtain, was cracked into a wide grin. He was still dressed in only a white tshirt and his boxers; Lucille was nowhere to be seen.  
  
There was no danger.  
  
"Get up," he ordered, standing away from his half-crouched position over the bed, "I got somethin' for ya' to see."  
  
"What--?"  
  
"Just get up, darlin', come on!"  
  
Knowing better than to argue with the man who had recently pegged you as his favourite wife (likely because you were the newest, and the only one who still earned her keep) you drearily rose to your feet, mind fogged with the residual adrenalin from your fright and the tiredness that crept back up from your confirmed safety.  
  
"What time is it?"  
  
Negan scoffed. "Does it matter? You just worry about squeezing your pretty little ass into some pants."  
  
Rolling your eyes, you did just that. Pulling on your pants and a tshirt, you proceeded to stumble around half awake, looking for some shoes. Negan laughs at your drunken-like bumbling, and you resist the urge to throw a newly found piece of footwear at him.  
  
"Alright," you begin, looking at him, "I'm ready."  
  
Your husband nods, having also dressed himself in his usual attire while you did, and takes your jacket from its place on a chair, "take this. 'S cold."  
  
Shrugging on your jacket, you follow Negan as he takes off in a brisk walk out of his quarters, grabbing Lucille out of habit as he goes. As you follow him at his side, the journey silent, you realise he's taking you to the yard. What could he possibly have to show you there? As far you knew, the Saviours hadn't be on a run tonight, so there would be no new inventory for him to pick through.  
  
He turns to you when you both approach the door and grins, looking positively giddy.  
  
"Ready?"  
  
"Uh... Sure?"  
  
He rolls his eyes at your lacklustre response and opens the door, and you gasp.  
  
Snow drizzled in steady streams from the sky, soft, pale flakes blanketing the ground in what was easily four inches of the powder. What was laid on the ground seemed to shimmer and sparkle in the moonlight, and you felt the air leave your lungs at the beauty of it.  
  
A few months back, you had told Negan how much you missed the snow. It seemed not to have fallen for the duration of the apocalypse, and although you had many more things to worry about now than the weather, it was still something you longed to see again. And here it was.  
  
Stepping out into the yard, you reached down and ran your fingers through the soft whiteness. It felt soft. Powdery, and drifted through your fingers like sand. The cold of it barely registered in your awe.  
  
Of course, until your beloved husband wound back his trusty bat and chipped it into the snow. Sending a whack of the snow right into your face, and down your jacket.  
  
Your jaw clenched and your eyes closed as Negan barked a laugh, practically cracking at the sides in his hilarity. So that was how he wanted to play this? Fine. Scooping up two handfuls of snow, you launched towards him and clapped your hands together either side of his stupid face, shutting up his laughter immediately as the freezing cold white smacked into his skin.  
  
He fixed you with a serious stare as you grinned widely in his face. It wasn't until you childishly began smushing the snow back forth into his cheeks that he broke; wrapping you up in a tight grip and picking you up.  
  
You had to fight the urge to shriek, knowing if it woke anyone, they'd likely think danger was present. So instead, you wriggled and hissed at him to put you down.  
  
"Oh, you want me to put you down?" He asked, voice the high and inquisitive tone of a man up to no good, "alright love, I'll put you down."  
  
And that he did. Suddenly, his arms were gone from around your waist. And you plummeted ass first into the snow below. You couldn't stifle the squeal of shock as the icy cold nipped at your behind. Looking up at him with a glare, you huffed, "that was fucking rude."  
  
"You asked me to."  
  
"YoU aSkEd Me To. Shut up."  
  
"You wantin' ironed, doll?"  
  
"I want you to get your ass down here and share my pain."  
  
He snorted and shook his head, taking a seat beside you nonetheless. The cold had him yelping profanities, and you would have made a snarky remark, had you been confident enough he wouldn't give you another facefull of snow as a result. Silence stretched between you both for a while. Negan broke it first.  
  
"'S nice. The snow. Can almost pretend the world ain't a fuckin' shit show no more with the way it covers everythin'."  
  
You looked at your husband and smiled. He did that sometimes. Said profound things that exposed a little bit of his soul in a way only Negan could. But through the cusses and the slang, you could see the emotion that drove his words. Shuffling up beside him, you rested your head on his shoulder and continued watching the snow fall.  
  
He was right. The world had become somewhere chaotic and dangerous. In a way much more horrifying and confusing than the threat of wars or global warming ever was. Every day was a fight to survive; every day was an exhausting struggle. But being able to sit in the company of a man you cared for more than you'd ever admit, and watch the snow drizzle and blanket everything below in a sheet that hid the horrors beneath...  
  
It was easy to pretend everything was how it used to be.  
  
"C'mon," he started, climbing to his feet, "lets get back inside. Last thing we need is to get ill from this fuckin' cold."  
  
You nodded and got up after him. You were surprised, however, when he offered an arm to you. Lucille was swung back onto the shoulder of his other arm, and your brain briefly made a comment about how he had his 'two favourite ladies,' with him. Shaking the thought away, you graciously took his arm with yet another smile, and headed inside.  
  
Leaving the freshly snow-covered world behind.


End file.
